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The
Edinburgh Fringe
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Fringe 2004 Reviews (13)The Pull of Negative Gravity Life on a Welsh hill farm must always have been hard. For the Williams family, the early years of the new millennium are so bad that selling up is the only option. Father has probably killed himself (or depression has) following foot and mouth. This wasn't helped by the fact that the neighbours found infection and riches, by way of compensation. Mother Vi, played by Joanne Howarth, is stuffing envelopes to make ends meet and the sons Rhys (Daniel Hawksford) and Dai (Lee Haven-Jones) toss up for who will mind the farm. The loser (or perhaps the winner) gets to join the army. As it transpires, Rhys also gets horribly wounded and disfigured. He cannot speak intelligibly and the left side of his body is paralysed. This draws a bravura performance from Daniel Hawksford, rather like that of another Daniel, Day-Lewis in My Left Foot. The only ray of sunshine is Rhys' fiancée, Louise Collins as Bethan. She is a sweet-natured nurse who loves both boys. Her need for Rhys is expressed by the flamenco that she dances with every helicopter that flies overhead and might be bringing him home. She also tends to burns victims from Iraq. Her latest is so badly burned that it takes a DNA test to prove that he is from the enemy. The set in the Traverse's Studio space is worthy of awards. Ellen Cairns has created some Escher-like magic with slate-grey hills seamlessly melting into Vi's living room and office. Gregory Thompson's production is harrowing but extremely moving. It may not always make for comfortable watching but deserves to be seen. If Messrs Bush and Blair could see the effects of war as depicted here, they might even check their facts better next time. Philip FisherKilling Paul McCartney Nick Grosso is known as a sharp, young playwright who is not scared to portray unpleasant reality. Killing Paul McCartney advertises itself as a play but in fact, is a stand-up routine delivered by the blond-haired besuited Jake Wood. Wood portrays Tommy from Catford and seemed to be a rather cruder, calmer version of Tommy Cooper, a man memorialised in another play, Jus' Like That, last year. Regrettably, the wrong person is writing this review. 90% of the audience was in raptures over the comedy. It featured staples like the difference between men and women in social situations, as well as more novel gag lines about subjects such as having sex with dolphins. The links with Paul McCartney stretch to some unfavourable music criticism (though Geri Halliwell does worse) and a rendition of Let it Be during which Tommy lowered his trousers. If you are interested in Tommy Cooper or Jake Wood, the best advice is almost certainly to read a different review. Philip Fisher Rosebud Mark Jenkins is a very talented man. He has written an entertaining and informative play showing the life of George Orson Welles (could he have been as successful if he had used his given first name?). Actor Christian McKay, for whom Jenkins wrote the play, gives a good imitation of the great man, whom he even manages to resemble, and to demonstrate great skill as a character actor. The "overweight, flat-footed exhibitionist" Welles was always destined to excel. His family, drunken father and arty mother, might have preferred him to choose a different discipline but the stage and broadcast media made him a rich and famous man. Much of the pleasure of Rosebud is in the performances. After a fascinating story of a Black Macbeth in Harlem that brings out two major facets, a love of Shakespeare and an inherent liberalism, Jenkins focuses on three major Welles moments. These start with one that he began to find tedious, Harry Lime in the film of Graham Greene's The Third Man. The defining moment of Welles' life probably came in October 1938 when his radio version of his almost namesake H.G.'s War of the Worlds caused chaos, as listeners believed that Martians had invaded the USA. This enabled him to negotiate a fantastic film contract, commencing what many regard as the best film ever made, Citizen Kane. Unfortunately, news magnate William Randolph Hearst, Kane's model, wasn't one of them. He started a dirty tricks campaign that hurt Welles' career and led to unpleasant encounters with Nelson Rockefeller and J. Edgar Hoover. From there, his marriage to Rita Hayworth and affairs with Marilyn (who needs a surname?) and Judy Garland lead to eventual maturity. His final performance is perhaps the most touching. Jenkins/Welles dons beard, padding and cape and becomes the perfect Falstaff, a part eventually recorded in Chimes at Midnight. Rosebud is a thoroughly entertaining bio-show. It deserves to be a success and one awaits Mark Jenkins' next production with impatient enthusiasm. Philip Fisher |
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